


Par for the course

by chronosaurus (kimnamjin)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: All my minsungs are so weird why am i like this, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Back at it again w a minsung where jisung makes minho a blushing mess, Banter, Changbin is there very briefly, Crush at First Sight, Cute Han Jisung | Han, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Flirting, Flirty Han Jisung | Han, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, Lee Minho | Lee Know is a Panicked Gay, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, No toy dolphins were harmed in the making of this fic, Romantic Fluff, Shy Lee Minho | Lee Know, Slice of Life, Some Humor, The skz mini golf au no one wanted, There’s seungjin there for like...5 seconds of fic time, Why Did I Write This?, confident gay!Jisung, cursed vibes but make it fluffy, except me, i have no idea what else to tag uwu, idk it’s minsung being cute at the mini golf course, im here to bring u some summer minsung vibes hehe, minho sucks at mini golf and he's valid for that, mini golf, panicked gay!Minho, set in july, to all my shy/flustered minho fans....here u go lol, why is there no official mini golf tag this is so sad alexa play easy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus
Summary: Minho gulped, and with absolutelynorun-up he announced, “I think I’m in-fucking-love.”Seungmin and Jeongin blinked in silent, stunned unison.“What?”From the youngest, after the shock and awe passed.Minho reiterated, “You know those guys who were playing behind us? Yeah, one of them is like a goddamndream.His name is Jisung, and he helped me out on my last putt. He was basicallyspooningme, but like, while standing? It was amazing, and—”Seungmin waved his hands, somewhat frantically. “Minho, slow down!”Minho did not slow down.Or: Minho meets Jisung while mini golfing with his friend group, and instantly falls head over heels for him after some hands-on assistance during a particularly tricky putt. The rest of the night is just...par for the course.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han & Hwang Hyunjin, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Kim Seungmin & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Minho | Lee Know & Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 43
Kudos: 300





	Par for the course

**Author's Note:**

> have u ever been to a mini golf place that has such a Cursed vibe u can feel it in the air? well, ive been to many, and that's the mood i was going for in this fic. but still fluffy and romantic, ya know? i hope u enjoy!! 
> 
> written to: ‘drive to 1980 love’ by janepop

Minho sprayed down his arms with deet-free mosquito repellent, rubbing in the white goop as he turned to his buddies. “You guys _sure_ you don't want any bug spray?”

Jeongin had the audacity to scoff at the offer. “I'll take my chances. I'm a snack, and if the bugs know that too, well...I guess I can't fault them.” 

Minho's other friend, Seungmin, also chose to forgo a spritz of insect deterrent. He doesn't understand them; it's approaching evening in _July,_ and he's already swatted _two whole_ mosquitos off gorging from his ankles. The _nerve_ of those bloodsucking beasts, Minho thinks. 

He squinted at his friends, somewhat suspiciously, but elected not to press the subject. They're losing enough daylight as it is.

Minho tossed the bug spray bottle into the trunk, and slammed it shut. 

The sky is a pleasant shade of pale blue as dusk ticks closer, a bit orange at the horizon line. Minho, Seungmin and Jeongin entered their favorite mini golf spot– _Island Time Fun Park–_ and sidled up to the counter to pick out their clubs. 

Minho, despite his protests, is designated a child-size putter, while stupid lanky Jeongin and stupid lanky Seungmin get to play with adult clubs. 

He often argues, but each visit Changbin, the employee _always_ on duty when they play, gives Minho the smaller size putter. Maybe he just revels in the furious blush to dye Minho's cheeks on contact, as a short-stack himself.

_“You have child sized_ hands _though.”_ Changbin explains each time, when faced with a spluttering Minho.

So Minho grins and bears it, and accepts the child-size club with as much grace as he can muster. 

He and his friends go mini golfing almost every weekend in the summer, and the tropical themed park on the outskirts of town is the best option for _miles_. Changbin and his love of watching Minho squirm ignored, that is. 

Sure, it has the vibe of something vaguely cursed, and that cannot be denied. The arcade in the indoor center is always kept forcefully darkened, coin operated horse rides and whack-a-mole machines wrapped in yellow caution tape. Their mascot–a chibi-style, disconcertingly chipper sea turtle named _Turtle Tim–_ leers unblinkingly at them from the murals painted behind the concession stand. 

Everything is neon and dark at the same time, and it always skeeves Minho out. How the sickly green glow of the _Ice Cold Soda!_ sign is all but eaten up by the adjacent darkness of the defunct arcade. Minho always feels that if he looks for too long he'll see eyes peering back at him from the shadows. And he's _not_ talking about Turtle Tim.

Liminal spaces, or something like that. As far as he's concerned, Island Time Fun Park is its own pocket dimension. 

“Have a good round, guys.” Changbin sent them off with a genuinely friendly grin, as the trio bid him farewell for the night. 

Sadly the other members of their friend group, Chan and Felix, had to bail on the outing tonight, so it's just the three of them playing. But that’s okay; they go golfing here just about every week, so they'll happily make it up with the other two on the next trip. 

They pushed through the door and back into the open air, already on the move. They've all but memorized the course, so they found themselves positioning their balls at hole 1 in a jiffy. 

The themeing of the park is, if not a tad tacky, relatively well-executed throughout the grounds themselves. Fake palm trees dot the landscape, gold string lights laced between the plastic fronds. Lilting ukulele tunes play exclusively through the speakers hidden amongst the gravel paths. Sometimes, if Minho breathes in deeply enough, he swears he can smell coconut and salt water in the air. 

Jeongin, the last to putt for hole 1, nudged his bright orange ball into the hole. He sighed, like he just disappointed his entire bloodline.

_“Two,”_ he spat, as if a curse. 

Seungmin shook his head, tutting as he penciled in Jeongin's total par on the scorecard. “Disgraceful.” He chided, a wily smile on his lips.

Minho managed a par 3 on the first hole, though he _swears_ he was robbed when his ball _just_ skirted the lip of the hole. As far as he's concerned he scored a 2, but with Seungmin on the scorecard tonight Minho will be lucky if he ends the game with a total under the triple digits. 

Jeongin grumbled, tightened his hold on the pink rubber grip of his club, and scrunched the tip of his button nose.

Minho laughed at his friend’s dramatics, notes similar to the chirping of the evening songbirds, as they skipped over to hole 2. He didn't make the distinction to mention how he scored _even_ _worse_ than Jeongin and, luckily, his friends kept mum on the issue as well. 

Minho would blame his lack-luster performance on his child-sized putter, but he _knows_ that's not the crux of the issue. Unfortunately. 

It was smooth sailing from then on out, as they shook off their first-putt jitters. Seungmin and Jeongin, who are _exceedingly_ better at mini golf than Minho, sunk holes in one for holes two through five. Minho, contradictingly, managed scores between four and five thereafter. And that's him doing _well._

He once scored a par of _eight_ on hole 4 when his light, feather-soft taps against the ball _refused_ to knock it into the hole. He thinks back on the memories with full body shivers. 

Seungmin executed a perfect putt on hole 5, sending his fluorescent green ball speeding down the hilled fairway before it tipped _right_ into the divot. Jeongin and Minho huffed at their friend’s infuriating perfection, and begrudgingly penned his score on the card. 

It is at this exact moment that the noise pollution of cicadas and the babbling of the nearby water-feature is disturbed.

“You ready to get your ass _beat,_ Hyunjin?” 

Minho and his friends sent each other matching glances. Their brows furrowed, as they turned in unison to face the previous hole.

A pair of boys hopped onto the green. They're very clearly in their early twenties, like Minho’s friends. One is tall and modelesque, hair long, flowing blonde and tied off into a loose bun. He's _startlingly_ handsome, eyes dark crescents as he laughs at his buddy’s proclamation. His lips are rosy pink, that toothy smile absolutely _textbook._

But the gorgeous stranger, his club balanced across his shoulders as if posing for a pictorial in _Mini Golf Weekly_ , isn't what caught Minho’s attention. 

It's his _friend._

The one who all but _screamed_ about the imminent butt-kicking the other boy– _Hyunjin?–_ will be receiving. 

He's a bit shorter than his perfectly-proportioned counterpart, but what he lacks in inches he makes up for in _everything else._ He's wearing a black muscle tee which was very obviously _not_ originally a muscle tee; the arm holes frayed, a gift from the jagged cut of non-fabric scissors. His arms are muscular, the ridges of his prominent biceps casting wonky shadows down his forearms. His jeans are so skin-tight, Minho genuinely worried for the circulation in his thighs. 

His face is youthful and expressive, eyes blown wide and lips held in a blinding grin. He's wearing a white knit beanie atop his head of dark brown hair, even though it's mid July.

Minho blinked at him, until Seungmin broke his trance. 

“Ugh,” his friend sighed. “People behind us already? I _hate_ feeling rushed when I putt.” 

Minho turned to his buddies, unconsciously rolling his lilac ball between his fingers. “I don't know,” he mused, stealing another quick glance over his shoulder at the pair behind them. The boy in the muscle tee boo’d, _loudly,_ when Hyunjin’s ball bounced off a rock and missed the hole.

“Maybe they're cool?” 

Jeongin scrunched his brows, as they _finally_ moved on to the next hole. “ _Cool?_ What does that even mean?” 

Minho shrugged, plopping down on a bench as Seungmin got into his putting stance. “Those guys seemed alright.” _One of them seemed more than alright._ “Maybe we can say hi? You never know, we may become friends.” 

_Maybe I can become more than friends with one of them._

Jeongin looked at Minho quizzically. He stared at him _deep_ and hard, and eventually said, “You’ve got that weird look in your eyes again. Like how you used to look at the blow-up dolphin on the prize wall.”

“Jeongin, you’re up!” Seungmin called, from the otherside of the hole. He plucked his orange ball from the ground, and gave Jeongin ample room to tee-up. Minho stayed dazed and seated on the bench, despite his turn rapidly approaching.

The blow-up dolphin from the prize wall. Right. A stupid kid’s knickknack still displayed from when the arcade _was_ up and running countless years ago. Minho always found it strangely adorable, in spite of the toy being _way_ out of his age demographic. He always wanted that ridiculous little thing, for some reason. 

Was he really looking at the sleeveless boy like _that?_

“Huh,” Minho whispered under his breath, to no one in particular. He sucked in a trembling pull of balmy summer air, the ample humidity wetting his dry throat. Jeongin putted expertly, his ball rolling perfectly down the astroturf but stopping _just_ short of the hole. His friend groaned, and sent the sky a plaintive look. 

Minho snuck another surreptitious glance over his shoulder. Hyunjin has long finished putting, and now the other took his turn. He performed an easy hole in one, and Minho suddenly felt his heart boom in his chest. Minho turned back to his group, exponentially more excited for the remainder of the game than minutes prior. 

Jeongin tapped the ball in.

Hole in two.

**  
  
**

⛳️

**  
  
  
**

Either Minho and his friends play with the speed of fucking _molasses,_ or off-work runway model Hyunjin and his (hot) friend play with lightning efficiency. Because, before he knew it, the pair are _right_ behind them again.

They had put some space between parties from holes six through nine, allowing Minho to _momentarily_ forget and get his head back in the game. But the duo behind _really_ must have flown through those holes with the greatest of ease, and that soon became incredibly apparent. 

Minho was up at hole ten, knees bent and the head of his putter _right_ at his lilac ball, when he heard the boy again. After what felt like _ages._

“You can do it!” 

Minho stiffened, and from sheer instinct alone he gave a pitiful tap against the ball. It rolled languidly down the green, and stopped halfway to the hole. 

“Sorry?” Minho asked breathlessly, as he turned at the waist. Hyunjin and his sleeveless-but-still-wearing-a-beanie-in-the-summer buddy are hanging back a respectful distance, but now they're looking _right_ at Minho. That certainly hasn’t happened before. That’s…. _new._

The sleeveless boy smiled, so wide and heart-shaped Minho could swear it’s something straight from a 90s anime protag, and chirped, “You got this! You can _totally_ make it in two.” 

_Fuck,_ Minho thought, as his nerves jangled beneath his skin. He was _talking_ to Minho. He was fucking _cheering him on,_ and Minho accidentally putted the _worst_ round in mini golf history. 

Dare Minho be a living cliche, but that's just about par for the course. 

Minho laughed, somewhat nervously. “O-oh, thanks! I suck though, so I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” 

Jeongin and Seungmin eyed each other, from where they’re loitering by the beginning of hole eleven. They looked from Minho, to the other boy, then back again. Soon enough the pair shrugged, and Jeongin took it upon himself to line up his putt at the next hole. Seungmin did the same, when the youngest sank his play in one stroke. 

They moved on without looking back. 

The boy shrugged, idly propping his club across his shoulders. His biceps flexed with the action, and Minho almost collapsed onto the fucking astroturf. “It’s just a game. As long as you’re having fun then who cares, you know?” 

Minho gazed at him, at his shining eyes and the lovely pillowing of his cheeks as he grins. Yeah. He knows. 

He doesn’t know what possessed him, when he abruptly blurted, “I’m Minho, by the way.” 

Suddenly realizing he completely bowled over the boy’s motivational speech, Minho hid his mortified blush by scampering down the green. He lined up his club with the ball, hands shaking, and gave it another powerless tap. It rolled one inch, maybe two. So much for that hole in two, he supposes. 

He heard a giggle behind him. Bubbly and light, and not judgmental in the slightest. Minho unconsciously turned on his heels, as if to follow that sound alone. As if to hear as much of it as humanly possible. 

“I’m Jisung. Nice to meet ya, Minho.” The boy supplied. Jisung hooked a thumb at his companion, “This telephone pole with legs is my friend, Hyunjin.” 

Hyunjin waved in greeting, before his expression became sly. He cocked a brow at Jisung, and mused, “We actually hate each other. I only hang out here with Jisung so I can cream him every time we play.” 

Jisung, to his credit, played along smashingly. He nodded sagely, “Yeah, uh-huh. Coming from the person who just got a par _5_ on a par _3_ hole. Sure.” 

Hyunjin growled, and even his _scowl_ is absolutely ethereal. “I _would_ have played better if _somebody_ didn’t keep distracting me.” He sent Jisung an incriminating glower, and his friend didn’t even flinch. 

Jisung shrugged, and turned his attention back to Minho. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Or something. I never actually knew what that meant. Anyways,” 

Jisung took a step closer to Minho, and then another. Soon he’s standing _right_ on the green with him, while Hyunjin stays back to check his phone. “Want me to help you get that in? I have the _best_ mini golf technique.”

“That’s a lie.” Hyunjin sang, features bathed in artificial blue. 

Minho squeaked, when he looked up to see Jisung directly beside him. If he stepped back an inch he’d knock shoulders with the exposed muscle of Jisung’s arms. Minho’s blush returned, even hotter and brighter than before. 

Blow-up dolphin from the prize wall. 

“W-what?” 

Jisung sent him a soft, disarming smile. He pointed down at Minho’s lavender golf ball; how it’s just sitting there, untouched and _still_ a good ways away from the hole. “Can I help?” 

Minho, coherency off in the next _continent,_ could only nod in acceptance. He doesn’t even know what Jisung is about to _do_ to lend him assistance, but he had a feeling he’d be remiss to refuse the helping hand. 

And he was right. So, _so_ fucking right. 

“Okay then,” Jisung said, as he slipped behind Minho. He got even closer, until Minho’s back is pressed _flush_ into his chest. Minho can feel his heat, like an electric current down his spine. He swallowed the squeak brewing in his throat, and forced his breathing steady. He's sure Jisung can feel the wild vibrations of his heart through their body-to-body contact, the flutter of his chest with each breath.

Jisung reached his arms around Minho’s waist, until he found his target; Minho’s hands, still white-knuckle gripping the rubber neck of his club. Jisung bracketed Minho’s arms with his own, and the world just about flipped upside down. Jeongin and Seungmin are probably one full hole ahead, maybe _two,_ but Minho couldn’t even _pretend_ to think of his friends right now, and where they’re playing. Jisung placed his hands lightly on Minho’s, touch guiding and light but still _there._

“Is this alright?” Jisung whispered, hardly audible under the din of far off cicadas and nearby ukulele chords. 

Minho nodded, and fought down the urge to pinch to crook of his elbow. He knows he’s not dreaming, though. “Definitely alright.” 

Jisung hummed, satisfied, and deepened his pressure on Minho's hands a tad. 

They aren't necessarily the same height, but the difference became null as Jisung fit his body perfectly behind Minho’s. Like he was _made_ to be there. Jisung even hooked his chin onto Minho’s shoulder, so he has the ideal view of his ball below. Minho can feel Jisung's gentle breath, can smell the fruity tang of a convenience store slushie with each puff fanning against his neck. 

“Just bring it back a little bit,” Jisung instructed, helping Minho rear his club back as directed. Minho’s heart is pounding, booming, and he’s _sure_ Jisung can feel the thrum. 

“Okay,” Minho yelped, blinking away his heart eyes. 

It's so cliche, like the climax of a cringey 80s romance film. Minho swore he heard slow jazz from somewhere across the course, creamy sax and synth. 

But maybe that's a byproduct from the buzzing in his ears, and the hypnotizing heat of Jisung's arms locking Minho’s into place. 

“Now give it a little tap.” Jisung guided Minho’s club forward, and to the ball. He did as told.

It rolled down the turf, before plunking into the hole. The light _clack_ of the golf ball falling in sounded deafening to Minho.

“Nice!” Jisung whooped, decidedly quieter now that he’s hovering _right_ behind Minho’s ears. _Was_ hovering, let him amend. Because much to Minho’s chagrin, Jisung peeled himself off his back and hopped over to the hole. He bent down to retrieve the bright lilac sphere, and brandished it like a trophy.

“See? Told ya you could do it!” Jisung exclaimed, holding the ball out to Minho. He suddenly feels numbed, and cold. Too cold for the summer. It’s mid July, but Jisung’s temperature reminded Minho that he _really_ should’ve worn a jacket. He instantly missed his warmth and the firmness of his body, as if Jisung took a piece of Minho with him when he broke their contact. 

Minho reached out a hand and took back his ball. The tips of their fingers brushed, and another tingling shiver ran down his spine. 

Jisung is grinning at him, all big and blinding and angular, and Minho couldn't help but return the smile himself. 

“Thanks, Jisung.” Minho mused, absentmindedly fiddling with his club. 

“I couldn't have done it without such _expert_ advice _._ ”

**  
  
**

⛳️

**  
  
**

Minho all but ran through the course, until he _finally_ found Jeongin and Seungmin again. 

They were sitting on a bench by hole fifteen, scrolling through their phones. The scorecard is poking out from the pocket of Seungmin’s jeans, along with the nubby little pencil Changbin gave them earlier. 

Jeongin noticed Minho first, and quickly shoved his phone back into his shorts. “Minho! Where have you _been?_ We were getting worried.” 

He looks just so; eyes wide and visibly relieved at the sight of his friend, lips parted in surprise at just how _long_ they’ve been separated. 

Seungmin looked up from his device too, though he looks severely less perturbed than Jeongin. “Yeah,” he said, meeting Minho’s gaze. “We were afraid Turtle Tim finally got you.” 

If only.

Minho gulped, didn't even indulge Seungmin in some obligatory chuckles, and with absolutely _no_ run up he announced, “I think I’m in-fucking-love.” 

Seungmin and Jeongin blinked in silent, stunned unison. “ _What?”_ From the youngest, after the shock and awe passed. 

Minho reiterated, “You know those guys who were playing behind us? Yeah, one of them is like a goddamn _dream._ His name is Jisung, and he helped me out on my last putt. I got a hole in three ‘cause of him, but that’s not important. He was basically _spooning_ me, but like, while standing? It was _amazing,_ and—”

Seungmin waved his hands, somewhat frantically. “Minho, slow down!” 

Minho did not slow down. 

“—I think I have the _biggest_ crush on him, you guys. What do I do?”

Jeongin, who took the news _much_ easier than Seungmin, nodded in acknowledgment. “The same guy you were giving goo-goo eyes before? With the beanie?” 

Minho bobbed his own head, sending his caramel brown locks bouncing. “Yeah. I think he’s my blow-up dolphin.” 

Seungmin narrowed his eyes, and popped off the bench. He strode up to Minho, and, without another word, pressed the back of his hand to Minho’s forehead. “You don’t _feel_ like you have a fever,” he removed his hand a few seconds later, knuckles slightly shiny from a thin tack of Minho’s sweat. “But I still have _no_ idea what that means.” 

“From the prize wall.” Jeongin elaborated, as helpful as ever. 

Seungmin now sent _him_ a baffled stare, and Minho can all but _hear_ his friend mentally questioning both their sanity right about now. 

“What I’m _trying_ to say,” Minho continued, after a few seconds of mildly awkward silence, “is that I _like_ him. And maybe he likes...me, too? And I don’t know what to _do_ about it.”

He _has_ to like Minho, right? Jisung wouldn't have... _helped_ him the way he did if he wasn't a _little bit_ into him, right? 

Jeongin now rose from his spot on the bench, and padded over to Minho. He slapped a large hand onto his friend’s shoulder, and said with surety, “You gotta go for it, Min. Next time you see him, ask for his number or something.”

“Or ask him on a date. One up getting a number.” Added Seungmin, suddenly totally acclimated _and_ onboard with the abrupt news that Minho is—as he himself put it—in love. 

It’s all too much, Minho ultimately decided. Not their advice, but just _everything_ happening. The cicadas chirping is too loud. The summery ukulele tunes are too loud. The rushing of the manmade-waterfall, the centerpiece of the course, is _too loud._ Minho’s heart thundering in his ears is too loud. 

And at this moment, a familiar sound cut through the white-noise melting Minho’s brain. A familiar _voice._

“Yo, Minho!” 

Minho’s heart stopped for a split second, before the beats regained rhythm. He instinctively turned, only to see Jisung jogging up to them. He’s got his club in hand, his emerald green ball stuffed into his jeans pocket and creating _quite_ the odd bump when juxtaposed with the second-skin tightness. Hyunjin is slowly following behind, but he’s got his handsome features buried in his phone again. 

“There you are.” Jisung tacked on, as he sent Minho a beaming grin. “Thought I’d lost you for the rest of the night.” 

Minho squeaked at that, at the casualness of such a statement. He willed the shake from his lips and made his smile steady when he quipped, “Oh? Couldn't get enough of watching me fail, huh?” 

It just hit Minho that he hasn’t even set up his ball on the green. 

Honestly, he’s just taken aback by his own confidence. But...there’s something placating in Jisung's eyes, and it makes him feel incredibly at ease. There’s something comforting in his heart-shaped smile that cools the fire in his veins. 

Jisung barked a laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily put it _that_ way, but,” he sauntered a bit closer to Minho, a newfound swagger in each sway of his tiny hips. “I’d be _happy_ to help you with your putt again, if need be.”

He sent Minho a wink. 

A _wink._

Minho is positive he just felt the earth shift under the soles of his sneakers. Some tectonic fucking _bullshit_ that _should’ve_ sent him tumbling head over heels, if only it actually shook the ground beneath. But no, that heavenly trembling was simply a byproduct of the seismic beats of his heart, a personalized earthquake sending blood rushing to his cheeks and neck and the tips of his ears. 

Even Jeongin and Seungmin seemed to wise up to the unspoken implications, at that moment. They sent each other matching, knowing glances, before Seungmin piped up. “We’re gonna...go on ahead, Min. Take your time with your new friend, okay?” Seungmin playfully knocked Minho on the shoulder with his fist, before heading off to the next hole. Jeongin sent his friend a (not so) subtle thumbs up, before trailing after Seungmin like a lost puppy. 

Minho sighed at their antics, but he thanked his lucky stars for them in the same breath. Thank _god_ he has Jeongin and Seungmin as his best friends. 

And you know what? 

Thank god for Hyunjin, too. 

“Actually,” the aforementioned boy began, speaking for the first time in a _while._ He skipped past Minho and Jisung, and made his way down the path Seungmin and Jeongin just walked. “I think I’ll go with them. The one with the brown hair is a _super_ cutie.” 

Minho’s brows shot up to his fringe. To say he was taken aback would be an understatement. 

He whipped around, now facing Hyunjin. He’s bound to give himself whiplash, at this rate. 

Whether Hyunjin simply used the excuse as a means to give them much needed privacy, or if he _actually_ had the genuine desire to pursue Seungmin seemed a mystery at first. But upon closer inspection of the hazy, almost _hungry_ look in his eyes, Minho has a sneaking suspicion it's the latter. 

Hyunjin is wearing an appropriately sultry smirk on his lips, his gaze dark and starry as he peers around the bend, looking for a certain someone. 

“His name’s Seungmin.” Said Minho, unconsciously smiling. “He’s also super single.” 

Hyunjin sent him a deeper smirk, half grateful, half ridiculously coy. Minho _swears_ he felt the heat from the sparks that flew from his eyes alone. Oh yeah, _that_ kinda look can't be faked for the sake of your friend and his new love interest. He's as serious about Seungmin as the day is long, and it begs the question: who knew it was so easy to fall in love on the mini golf course? 

With a nod of his head, making his loose man-bun flop about, Hyunjin took off after the duo. Minho bit his lip, once Hyunjin rounded the bend. Seungmin is _in_ for it. 

And then there were two. 

Dusk has long since set, tinging the evening sky an almost eerie shade of muddled blue. Lavender and pink clouds dapple the atmosphere, as if bushels of cosmic cotton candy. The pastel perfection reflects in Jisung’s eyes as he sidles up to Minho. 

Minho still hasn’t made _any_ immediate move to putt for this hole. Jisung doesn’t seem to mind, luckily. 

“I hope this isn’t coming off too strong,” Jisung began, innocently. Minho subconsciously held his breath. 

“But I think you’re really cute. Can I take you out sometime? Only if you want, of course!” 

Minho released all the air from his lungs, as if a dam of oxygen had sprung a mighty leak. He internally celebrated, but only for a second. He doesn’t want to keep Jisung waiting. 

“That sounds wonderful. I'd _love_ to.” Said Minho, smiling until his cheeks hurt as he lightly bumped his shoulder with Jisung’s. Even the metal necks of their clubs clanged together, from their proximity. Jisung visibly brightened, in his eyes and his smile and his blushing cheeks. He puffed out his chest, and bit down on his bottom lip to stifle his goofy grin. 

“And for a date,” Minho continued, feigning naivety. He made a show of stroking at his chin, while he looked up at the kaleidoscopic summer sky. 

“How does a round of mini golf sound?” 

Jisung smiled, and Minho could feel it in the air. Could feel that beautiful heart shape nuzzle against his cheeks. Could see its light, like fireflies. 

“That sounds perfect, Minho.” 

**  
  
  
**

⛳️

  
  


Minho hunkered down at hole eighteen, and examined the green stretched before him. It's the final hole—his moment to prove himself. 

It’s a simple straight shot to the end goal, save for two craggy rock-obstacles flanking the middle of the turf. A large plaster statue of Turtle Tim keeps a watchful gaze from the reeds, his gaping, starry eyes vaguely unsettlingly in the lack of natural light. 

More focused than he’s ever been, Minho set his ball down and readied his club. He bent his knees, reared his putter back, and—

“Hole in one!” Minho cheered, at the exhilarating sight of his lilac golf ball plopping into the hole. He can’t _believe_ it! After all these countless, fruitless attempts putting for perfection at Island Time Fun Park, Minho _finally_ sunk a hole in one! 

And at just the right time, too.

He’s got an expert watching after all. 

He heard Jisung wolf-whistle, from his spot idling behind him. “That's what he said!” 

Minho playfully seethed and whipped about, making move to thwack the boy upside the head with his club. “Make it make sense, Jisung. _Make_ it make _sense.”_

Jisung did not cower, at the sight of Minho Lee mock-threatening him with a children’s height mini golf club. In fact, he merely cocked a brow, and leaned on his own club as if some 1900s debutant with a lacquered cane.

Minho unscrunched his brows, and heaved a tellingly good natured sigh. Finding himself missing him, missing the tang of artificial fruit and crushed ice on his breath, Minho toddled over to Jisung and propped his chin on the other’s shoulder. The fabric of his cut-off muscle tee is soft, but not as soft as the skin of Jisung’s exposed shoulder. 

Jisung gently pawed Minho’s chin off his shoulder after a few blissful seconds, so he can set up his ball on the astroturf. 

As Minho watched, an idea popped into mind. He couldn't help but ask, “Hey, Jisung?” 

The other hummed, as he fiddled with the position of his club. “Have you ever seen that blow-up dolphin inside?” 

Jisung’s preparatory movements stilled. He straightened up again and turned back to Minho, brows pinched with confusion. “You mean...the one hung up on the old-ass prize wall?” 

Minho nodded, giggling at nothing but the thought of it. 

Jisung shrugged, and re-focused on his imminent putt. “Yeah, it’s cute I guess. Why?” 

Jisung whacked the head of his club against his green golf ball, and it is sent _flying_ across the green. It landed with a dull, hardly audible _thud,_ and bounced twice before rolling to a halt a few inches from the hole. It’ll be a par two, Minho predicts. Who would have ever thought _Minho_ would perform better on a hole than self-proclaimed _best-mini-golf technique_ Jisung? 

He’s sure stranger things have happened, though. 

Getting himself back on track, Minho mused through a grin, “Will you help me distract Changbin while I steal it off the wall?” 

Jisung wildly spun around, towards Minho again. His eyes are wide and bright and _glittering_ in the moonlight, as cheesy as it may sound. There’s a cheek-splitting grin on his lips, and Minho felt himself getting lost in the curvature of his smile. 

“Oh _hell_ yeah.” Jisung hollered, as he jogged down the green. He kicked his ball into the hole with the toe of his converse, and motioned Minho over to his side. 

Jisung extended a hand, elegant fingers lax and open. Minho laced his between the spaces, squeezed Jisung’s hand just enough to eek some of his heat into the chilled tips of his fingers. 

“Let’s go, Minho. Your dolphin awaits.” Jisung declared, as they walked hand in hand. Minho hummed, completely enamoured, and tightened his grip on Jisung.

Minho may have gotten his first hole in one mere minutes ago, but he still firmly stands by the notion that _he’s_ the real victor of the night. 

He stole a quick look at Jisung from under his lashes, as if to confirm this very idea. His vision is met with feathery brown hair, peeking out from under his knit beanie. His muscular biceps, flexing as he swings their interlocked hands. The heart-shaped smile gracing his lips, despite his gaze soft and largely unfocused on the dimly-lit arcade before them. 

There’s no question. 

Minho _definitely_ won. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this wasn’t too weird,,,i just want minsung to minI GOLF  
> but uh pls drop a kudo if u enjoyed ^^ and yes seungjin and minsung go on mini golf double dates uwu
> 
> Also, I’m not sure if this will be my last fic of the year or not, but if it is i just wanna quickly say: thank you So Much to everyone who supported both me and my works during this (hell) year ;; reading your comments and interacting with you guys was such a bright spot in the darkness, and if it wasn’t for all of u and skz i really dont know how I would’ve made it through ahah...damn I’m really getting emo in the notes of my minsung mini golf fic huh....anyways!! Thank you so much for enjoying what i created this past year, it really means the world to me :’)


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